by Jim Melvin
All during the day, her appetite had been poor. The white knights who guarded the pavilion were excellent hosts, attending to her every need and preparing simple but wonderful meals. Still, she refused everything they offered. Her stomach was grumbly and sour, and she couldn’t seem to shake her despair.
The Daasa, however, were their usual playful selves, disappearing into the woods for short periods before bursting into the clearing and leaping into the river like children finally given permission to swim. Even this did not cause Bonny to smile. In some ways she felt like a grieving widow who had recently lost the only man she had ever loved. Several times it reduced her to tears.
A long while after dusk, Lucius returned. Hundreds of Daasa sprinted from the darkness to greet him, but when they saw the look on his face, they scattered. Lucius was all sweaty, though his crimson doublet was dry, and instantly she knew what he had done. It wasn’t a good sign.
When she approached to hug and kiss the firstborn, he drew away.
“Bonny, we need to talk,” he said brusquely.
“Of course, sweety,” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “Let’s go to the pavilion and have some wine. Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m not. I should be . . . but I’m not.”
“I know the feeling.”
Lucius stumbled toward the pavilion, finally settling on a cushion. He looked exhausted.
“Would you rather just go to sleep and talk in the morning?”
“Huh? No . . . no. We need to talk now.”
“All right, Lucius. Whatever you say.” Bonny handed him a cup of wine and sat down on the cushion beside him. “What do you want to talk about, sweety? Is it what you learned at the Privy Council?”
“Yes,” he said, lowering his head. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose.
“You changed . . . and then ran all the way back, didn’t you?” Bonny said. “Why didn’t you ride the horse?”
Lucius lifted his head. “I was . . . upset. I couldn’t seem to help myself. It felt good to run.”
“I understand,” Bonny said. “I have done that myself. So tell me what has you so upset. Beyond the obvious, I mean.”
When Lucius stared into her eyes, she could see his filling with tears.
“Bonny, it’s even worse than I feared, as if that’s possible. The golden soldiers were born of the Daasa. Do you know what that means?”
“Of course I do. It means that thousands and thousands of Daasa were slaughtered to create the newborns.”
“Think, Bonny . . . what else does it mean?”
Bonny was becoming annoyed. “Lucius, I know you are tired and sad, but so am I. Don’t make me guess these things.”
Lucius stood up and stormed from the pavilion, heading toward Cariya. He stopped at the river’s edge and stared at the quarter moon.
Bonny came up behind him, more angry now than worried. “Tell me,” she shouted, causing several dozen Daasa to squeal and run. The white horsemen nearby also shied from her.
Lucius stepped toward her and grabbed her arms, as if to shake her. “You and I aren’t the only humans who can transform,” he said. “The newborns can do it too. There are tens of thousands of them still alive. Now do you understand?”
Bonny felt as if a cave troll had slapped her. She staggered back and fell onto her butt on the grass.
Lucius knelt beside her. “You know what you have to do,” he said in a desperate whisper.
“No.”
“You must!”
“No! Not unless you come with us.”
“Bonny, you know I can’t do that.”
She reached over and took his face in her hands. “Lucius, listen to me real careful. You can do with the Daasa what you want, but I will not go without you. If you stay, I stay . . . and that is that.”
Lucius stood up, strode a few paces away, then whirled around. “Then you will die. And so will the Daasa.”
Bonny also stood, but now her voice was tender. “Lucius . . . we are all going to die one day, but I would rather die in battle with you than live the rest of my life without you. Don’t you know that by now?”
IN THE DARKNESS of an uncomfortably warm evening, Lucius and Bonny sat on cushions within their pavilion and ate cheese and wafers. Other than the Daasa, they now were alone, the squadron assigned to guard them having departed earlier that day to join the rest of the white horsemen on the Green Plains east of Jivita.
“Then we are decided?” Bonny said.
Lucius sighed. “You and I will cross Cariya and head south. The Daasa will be allowed to choose their fate. If they follow, then they will join us in battle. If they refuse to leave the border of the forest, then they will be on their own. Personally, I hope they choose the latter.”
“So do I. The past couple of days, they have been acting strange. Large groups have been gathering on the riverbank and staring in the direction of Lake Hadaya, as if sensing Mala’s approach.”
“More likely, the newborns’ approach,” Lucius said. “The question then becomes, will they view them as enemies or brothers?”
“I think they will view them the way you and I view them.”
Lucius took one last sip of wine, then stood and left the pavilion. Bonny followed obediently. Several Daasa joined them, nipping at their ankles. When the firstborn and pirate reached the riverbank, the pair disrobed and stuffed their clothes into a cloth sack that contained several heavy stones. Then they lay down on the lush grass and made love, perhaps for the last time.
Sometime during the encounter, they transformed. While still in his monstrous persona, Lucius peeled himself off Bonny’s sweaty body, picked up the sack, and heaved it over the river. In his normal state, Lucius could not have thrown it more than twenty cubits, but his superhuman strength enabled him to cast it across Cariya onto the far bank. Afterward he smiled at Bonny, revealing a pair of glistening fangs, and then dove into the swirling currents. The pirate followed. Soon they were standing on the other side of the river. Only then did they revert to their normal selves and put their clothes back on.
The Daasa, of course, were enthralled. In unison the six thousand that had survived the battle with the druids splashed across the river, as if it were all just another game. Lucius looked at them and grimaced, their friendship and loyalty smiting his heart.
“I will not force you to follow,” he said out loud.
The Daasa responded by squealing, chittering, and rolling around in the grass to dry off. This cute behavior only made it worse.
“Are you ready, my dear?” Bonny said, taking his hand.
“No . . . but there’s no reason to delay any longer.” He gazed at the Daasa again. “What will be will be.”
They skirted the eastern bank of Cariya. At first the Daasa trotted happily along, but soon it became apparent they were puzzled. Hundreds lagged behind, some sitting on the grass and refusing to walk farther. After little more than a mile, less than a third of the Daasa remained at their sides, and these were anxious and agitated. By the time Lucius and Bonny had walked a league, the Daasa were no longer with them, but their cries and squeals remained audible. With tears in their eyes, Lucius and Bonny stopped and turned around.
“It’s for the best,” Lucius said.
“I will miss them . . . I love them . . .”
“Me too. But if we somehow survive the battle, I promise you we’ll look for them. I don’t think they’ll wander far—at least, not right away.”
Bonny took his face in her hands. “I love the Daasa, but I love you more. I am glad to be with you, Lucius Annaeus. I will be proud to fight by your side.”
“The feeling is mutual, Bonny Calico. And before all who might hear, let it be known that I love you more than anyone in the world.”
24
AFTER THE PRIVY Council, Torg called for a carriage and rode with Laylah to Boulogne’s. By then it was near dusk and time for another meal, but neither had much of an appetite. Accompanied by sadness and dread, they
sat side by side and drank Tugarian nectar. The other customers—Tugars mostly—kept their distance. Even the gregarious Burly left them alone.
To Laylah, it felt as if she and Torg had fallen off a cliff. For a few more moments they would be alive together, but inevitably they would strike the ground. Though riddled with strife, their brief time together had been lovely, nonetheless. Now the approaching storm, which until then had been just rumbles in the distance, was clearly visible on the horizon. They could ignore it no longer. Doom was upon them.
“If we’re to run, it needs to happen now,” Torg said, his barely audible words seeming to come out of nowhere.
In response, Laylah emptied her goblet with several robust swallows and then refilled both hers and the wizard’s. “It is not in your nature to abandon your people or your friends,” she whispered back. “The Tugars and Jivitans need you here. You are their only hope. Besides, we both know that running would be futile. Sooner or later Invictus would find us, even if we sailed across the ocean.”
“If we fled far enough away, it might take him years to find us. At least we would be together until then.”
“If we performed such a selfish deed, we would no longer be who we are. You would be racked by guilt, and I would be ashamed that I forced it upon you. No matter the stakes, we cannot run—even if it costs us everything.”
“You say this now, and I agree,” Torg said. “But how will we feel if he enslaves you again?”
“If you still live, I will wait for you, regardless of what he does to me. If you do not, then I will take my own life. Perhaps we will meet again in a better place than this. Peta has indicated as much.”
Torg’s eyes filled with tears. “I want you now . . .”
Laylah also began to weep. “I know, beloved . . . but what can we do?”
Suddenly, Burly was standing between their chairs, as if he had been eavesdropping all along. “I could take you both to Kincara,” the enchanter said. “There are places to hide in my forest that even Invictus would find difficult to uncover.”
Torg sighed. “As Laylah said, we have responsibilities here that transcend our own well-being. I am a king and cannot abandon my people. And as far as I’m concerned, Laylah is their queen.”
Laylah wiped her eyes with a cloth and then drank more wine. She felt herself becoming despairingly drunk, but at least it dulled the pain.
“Let me take Laylah, then,” Burly said. “The Gillygaloos will protect her as if she were our queen.”
“No!” Laylah said in a voice so powerful it shook the heavy wooden table, casting cups, bowls, and spoons onto the floor and shocking the rest of the room into silence. Then her voice returned to a whisper. “Where Torg goes, I go. If Torg stays, I stay. My mind is set—and nothing will change it.”
Ukkutīka was next to make a surprise appearance. He took Laylah’s hand and kissed it. Then he turned to Torg and bowed. “Lord, let it be known that the Tugars will defend Queen Laylah to the death. If she is taken, it will not be before the rest of us have fallen.”
Laylah blushed, but Torg’s face grew grim. “Do not voice such words again,” the wizard said. “You will do as I order . . . nothing more, nothing less.”
“My apologies,” Ukkutīka said. Then he bowed again and left the room.
With lingering anger, Torg watched him depart.
“Beloved, he meant well,” Laylah said, stroking his cheek with her hand.
“I must lose you and my people?”
“Nothing is guaranteed,” Burly said. “The queen and her white horsemen are strong. You and the Tugars are strong. And you are not without allies. Though we are outnumbered, we are not yet defeated.”
Now it was Laylah’s turn to sigh. “Mala’s army is great, but it is Invictus we fear the most. As long as he exists, all living beings on Triken are in peril.”
“And perhaps beyond Triken,” Torg said.
Burly held up his magic wand, which was about the same length as the wizard’s middle finger. “Wait until Invictus tastes the fury of this,” he said, waving the wand above his head. Multicolored sparkles burst in the air between Laylah and Torg.
“Remind you of something?” the enchanter said with a wink. Then he added, “Deep beneath Boulogne’s, encased in cement as thick as bedrock, is a small room where I usually keep the oldest and most extravagant of my wines. Earlier today I ordered all but one of the casks removed and a large straw mattress put in their place. The room isn’t what you would call luxurious, but I believe it was built well enough to withstand an earthquake—several earthquakes—if you get my meaning.”
Laylah smiled at the charming little man, then leaned way down and kissed him lightly on his full, red lips. “Lead us, if you would. And could we bring some cheese and wafers with us?”
“A basket of food awaits you,” Burly chirped. “Didn’t I already say so?”
With torch in hand, the enchanter led them down a narrow stairway that curved as it descended. Burly hopped from step to step as deftly as a cat. How deeply they delved, more than two hundred paces, amazed Laylah. Who had built this? When and why? She had no idea.
At the bottom of the stairs they came to a stout wooden door. Torg swung it open, revealing a room that was small and dank but to Laylah, more luxurious than her chambers in Queen Rajinii’s palace. Besides the food and wine, Burly had arranged for several dozen candles to be artfully placed on the floor surrounding the mattress.
“If I can’t provide you a lifetime of safety, at least I can give you one last night to yourselves,” Burly said. “In the far corner is an even smaller room with a covered chamber pot.” He pointed toward the door. “Once you lower the bar, you will have privacy for as long as you like. The Tugars have already assured me that no one will bother you here.”
“Thank you . . . so much,” Laylah said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“Just being The Torgon’s friend—and your friend—is enough payment for a dozen lifetimes,” Burly said. Then he turned and scampered up the stairs without saying goodbye.
Laylah and Torg removed their clothing and placed them at the foot of the stairs. As soon as Torg barred the door, Laylah burst into tears. The enchanter’s generosity was in stark contrast to the peril she faced, and it opened in her a well of sorrow. Laylah almost collapsed, but the wizard caught her in his arms and lowered her onto the mattress. Then he held her for a long time, cooing and stroking her hair.
Though Laylah was already inebriated, she guzzled more wine. What did she have to lose? Torg drank even more than she, his furnace-like metabolism able to tolerate almost anything. When she told him that she was feeling dizzy and a little nauseated, he ran Obhasa over her torso and willed blue-green energy into her abdomen, evaporating the bloated pool of alcohol in her stomach. Instantly, she felt better, though it caused her to burp loudly on several occasions, emitting tiny clouds of blue-green gas each time. Both started to giggle.
Giggling led to tickling.
Tickling to hugging.
Hugging to kissing.
Kissing to . . .
The room was indeed well built, and it withstood several massive jolts, with just a few cracks to show for it. But the straw mattress, candles, cask of wine, and basket of food did not fare so well. By morning, Laylah and Torg lay fast asleep on the bare cement floor, their naked bodies entwined.
25
THERE WAS NOTHING left of Bard. Even his ashes had blown away. All that remained was a charred patch of grass next to the angry river.
“Barrrrrrrrrrd!” the crossbreed screamed. “I loves ya, I does! And I misses ya. My life will never be the same again.”
Ugga had never felt so alone. He sat cross-legged beneath the quarter moon and sobbed for a long time.
When he finally stood, how old he felt amazed him. Though he was still strong, his body hurt in a dozen places. His knees were the worst, but almost every joint seemed to ache, and the simple act of wriggling his fingers made h
im moan. The crossbreed wished the big battle would happen soon; otherwise, he might not be able to put up much of a fight. Elu and the others were depending on him. He would do his best not to let them down. Would his best be good enough?
Ugga shouted for Jord, hoping she would appear out of the darkness and make him feel better, as she had countless times before. But there was no response to his calls. No comfort would come tonight, from any source. Like the relentless march of time, the river roared by, showing little regard for the crossbreed’s peculiar brand of pain and despair.
Eventually, he slept beneath the stars, though his dreams remained troubled.
IN JIVITA, THERE was no lack of places to pray. More than one hundred cathedrals, a few of which were capable of seating ten thousand worshippers at a single service, were scattered throughout the White City. The One God deserved no less.
Among the most devout of Ekadeva’s followers was Queen Rajinii. She rarely went more than a day without attending a service somewhere within her realm. However, when she was most in need of her god’s strength and guidance, she preferred to eschew the pageantry of the massive churches and retire to a small chapel just down the hall from her royal chambers. Though barely the size of one of her closets, it nonetheless was her favorite place in the world. Even after she had been infected with Invictus’s sorcery, she had found comfort in the chapel. It was as if the Sun God’s magic could not reach her there.
Now that she was cured, her faith had grown stronger.
At the same time that Burly was leading Torg and Laylah down the stairway, Rajinii sat on a cushioned pew that faced a small round window filled with green glass. Beneath the window was an altar bearing a wooden cross mounted on a silver base. The cross was flanked by a pair of silver candelabrums each containing three white candles: one for courage, one for mercy, one for devotion. Otherwise the chapel was bare.
As was her wont, Rajinii whispered her prayers out loud.
“My God, though I am but a humble servant, I beg you to listen to my words. I do not pray for my own welfare. I care only for my people. There is grave danger ahead, and the white horsemen are in need of your assistance. Without your help we cannot prevail against the evil that marches our way. And if we do not prevail, many innocents will die . . . or worse.”